Page 82 of The Scot Beds His Wife
“If anyone can think of one or a multitude of reasons why this man doesna deserve a wife, speak now or forever hold yer—”
“If I didna need ye to pronounce us man and wife, I’d kill ye myself,” Gavin snarled.
“Where’s yer plaid and her sash?” the Demon Highlander remonstrated, apparently unconcerned with the threat of fratricide. “Did ye not plan to handfast her today?
“Ye mean, where is yer plaid?” Gavin made a rude gesture to the Laird’s kilt.
“Ourplaid.” All traces of mocking levity vanished from the Laird’s features. “The Mackenzie plaid.”
“We’re wearing what we’re wearing, Liam, so do yer duty and then get out of my keep.”
“I’m not pronouncing ye married without the Mackenzie colors, Thorne, now where. Are. They?”
“Up yer own arse, ye sanctimonious fuck.”
“Thorne!” Mena admonished. “Really!”
Samantha immediately realized why they called Liam Mackenzie the Demon Highlander. An unholy maelstrom of rage swirled in his black eyes and propelled him a step forward, blood his undeniable intent.
Samantha would not have thought Gavin a lesser man for stepping back in retreat, but he didn’t. He stepped forward, as well, placing himself between her and the approaching mountain of wrath.
“In a few months’ time, I’ll not be a Mackenzie,” he said with relish. “And ye’ll hold no dominion over InverthorneorErradale.”
The furious Highlanders stood face-to-face, nose to aristocratic nose, and Samantha noted dimly that their height wasn’t all that dissimilar. Dear God, what if she was to become a widowagainbefore she even became a wife?
“What. Did. Ye. Say?” The Demon Highlander’s features were so hard, a well-placed thwack with a chisel might have shattered them.
“It’s as good as done, Liam. I’m emancipating myself from the Mackenzie clan. I no longer want to be stained by the name.”
“Not possible.”
“Entirely possible. All I had to do was declare war on paper in a council of clans. I had to state crimes, cruelties, and indignities, against my person and others by Mackenzie Lairds past and present, which I did. And trust me, brother, I had plenty of witnesses to speak to it.”
Samantha had seen a look of cruel arrogance on Gavin’s face before, but now an unholy rage burned with a dark flame.
For the first time, he truly frightened her.
“But not against Liam, surely.” A concerned Mena stepped forward. “Consider what you are doing, Thorne. You’ll be without a clan.”
“Maybe I’ll become a Ross.”
Samantha swallowed heavily. That would certainly mean the end of her charade. Lord, but this was getting problematical. Someone should stop this, stop them, before they ended up killing each other.
“I told ye before, Gavin, ye’d be a fool to go to war with me.” The Laird’s eyes flashed with obsidian fire.
Gavin merely grinned, revealing entirely too many teeth. It was the smile of a wolf. “What will ye do, Liam? How will ye punish me for my defiance? Whip me? Cut me? Burn me? Lock me out of my own keep to face the Highland winter naked and alone? Do I look afraid, brother? Do you think that’s anything that hasna been done before?”
A fraught and potent silence blanketed the room. It screamed through the mere inches that separated brother from brother. They were two alpha wolves snarling in front of their pack, and any moment Samantha was certain one would go for the other’s jugular and rip it out.
The only question was which?
“They call ye a demon,” Gavin sneered. “But ye’re nothing but one of those damned bulls out there, charging with your head down, unable to see what’s stalking you from the bushes. Ye may be undefeated in open war, but life has many battlegrounds, brother, and I’m a man of patience,and strategy, and endless reserves of stamina. So if ye fight me on this, ye’ll find yerself sorely outmatched.”
“Ye’ll lose the distillery,” Ravencroft threatened. “What’ll become of Inverthorne without income?”
“That isna a problem anymore.” Gavin glanced down at her triumphantly.
“Ye selfish ingrate!” Ravencroft roared. “If ye think I’m pronouncing ye married now, ye can go straight to hell.”
